


Not Quite the Usual

by mogwai_do



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt meme <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/409.html?thread=637593#cmt637593">here</a>, which asks:</p><p>
  <i>"Happy!sub!Martin, being petted and praised and pampered. Because after all the ANGST he gets put through, I think he deserves something nice.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Doesn't have to be graphically porny neccessarily, just sub!Martin and some glowy, warm, yummy headspace."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite the Usual

The muscles in his thighs ache a little from kneeling for so long, but it's no worse than the aches he gets hefting boxes. The thick rug provides just the right level of cushioning beneath his knees to stop it from being truly uncomfortable, so really it’s just one more sensation to add to the many others. His hands rest half-curled and relaxed at the base of his spine; his arms held in place by a broad piece of silk wrapped around his wrists. His head is slightly bowed, but for the first time in weeks, the muscles in his shoulders and neck are relaxed. 

He can't see, but the blindfold is the same soft silk that wraps his wrists. It smells of his Master, nothing too heavy, just the scent that comes from repeated personal wear. It's comforting, like the silk is an extension of his Master, touching him even when he’s not. Martin licks his lips, still slick and wet and a little swollen and feels fingers thread into his hair, gently teasing apart the sweat-soaked curls.

"Very good, Martin," comes the soft voice. It’s a warm breath curling against his ear, the side of his neck, then lips press a kiss to the point of his shoulder. His Master always uses his actual name, never a diminutive or pet name, so there is never any confusion, in Martin’s mind least of all, as to who exactly his Master wants to belong to him.

Deft fingers follow the lines of his arm down and with a single tug, release the silk binding his wrists, but Martin keeps his wrists in place despite their sudden freedom. He feels the curve of an appreciative smile against the skin of his shoulder and it sends a fizzing pride through him before the lips withdraw.

He hears shifting and the rustle of cloth, but he doesn’t feel any need to follow the sound; he’s safe here, they’ve made it safe. In this place, this time, he doesn't have to worry about getting it wrong, about looking like a fool, about meeting the never-ending, ever-changing expectations of society: a wife, job, success, children. Here there is only one set of demands, always simple and clear, always something he can achieve even if doing so sometimes takes everything he has. The pride that feels so misplaced on the flight deck is encouraged here; he is _good_ at this, better than good. He knows he is because he's been told exactly that in a voice he trusts more than he trusts himself.

Fingertips press lightly beneath his chin and he lifts his head easily in expectation and continues to follow that gentle pressure as it guides him to his feet, feeling the stiffness in his legs as they finally straighten.

"Hands," it’s a low murmur, but he hears it clearly and brings his hands around in front of himself holding them out and feeling broader, warmer hands wrap around them, thumbs caressing his inner wrists and drawing him forward. He takes the three steps he’s led and lets himself be turned and pushed gently down to sit on the edge of the bed and then pressed back. A light tap to the side of his knee makes him draw his legs up onto the bed as well until he’s lying flat on his back. 

He feels the bed dip and shift as his Master climbs onto it. He can feel his heat and his presence hovering over him, watching him, studying him. Martin lets himself be studied because here he has nothing to fear from it. He doesn’t understand how this can be so easy, when everything else in his life seems so hard, but he accepts it.

"Beautiful," the word ghosts over his lips and he opens them in response. The sweet, soft invasion of lips and tongue almost distract him from the hand that wraps around the erection he had all but forgotten about and he gasps into the kiss.

The hand’s movements are firm, slow and appreciative as if each individual stroke and the reaction it induces are being carefully observed. Martin curls his fingers into the bedspread as his back arches at the pleasure rippling slowly through him, building higher each time.

No grabbing, no touching without permission, no words, but he can arch and writhe and moan as much as he needs to. Those are the rules and he follows them with as much dedication as he does SOPs. He can't come either, not until he’s told to; that’s harder to obey, but he tries. A broad, wet tongue sweeps up his cock from root to tip and he moans, almost tearing the bedspread in his grip.

"Now, Martin," breathed hot against his cock and Martin arches with a strangled cry, coming hard, his body shuddering like GERTI in a storm. He loses track for a little while, coming back to the feel of a warm, wet cloth gently sweeping over his stomach.

"Very good," he hears, murmured against the silk at his temple, heating the thin fabric against his skin like a kiss, “Very good indeed.”

Then hands are skating over his chest, his shoulders, drawing him onto his side and then further, until he rests half on top of his Master, his head tucked against a shoulder broader than his own. His limbs feel leaden, but he thinks his body must be almost humming with happiness, radiating it to warm his Master beneath him. Gentle fingers tuck a stray curl behind his ear before trailing lightly down the side of his neck and almost ticklish sensation that has him pressing his face closer in to his Master’s neck. In response the too-light touch becomes a broad hand sweeping over his shoulder, down the curve of his spine and then further still until strong fingers curl around his thigh and draw his leg up, over his Master's. The hand returns a moment later to grasp Martin's lax hand carefully and draw it further around until Martin is all but wrapped around his Master like a living blanket. Fingers card through his hair slowly and he feels another kiss pressed to temple.

"Sleep now, Martin," come the final words and, with an increasingly familiar mixture of contentment and satisfaction, Martin does.

FIN


End file.
